


Stan & Ford Pines: A Longing Story

by The_7_Reader_of_Kaldrags



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate History, American Horror Story References, Angst and Drama, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Child Death, Childhood Friends, Competition, Death, F/M, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Loss of Parent(s), Mental Health Issues, Monsters, Musical References, Mystery, Mystery Trio, Mythology - Freeform, Other, References to Canon, Singing, The Journals (Gravity Falls), Threats of Violence, references everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_7_Reader_of_Kaldrags/pseuds/The_7_Reader_of_Kaldrags
Summary: Stanley and Stanford Pines have had to see how life can become a kind of cruel and hostile punishment. They must learn from the pain, move away from home to try to escape from their ghosts that haunt them. They try to run from the horror of death, seeing their father die from an inhuman way. But sadly, that's going to be the least of their problems when they move to a hidden town in Oregon, where they have to uncover their secrets, which far transcend what anyone could ever have imagined. Accompany them, if you try, in this loaded serendipity of misfortunate events.
Kudos: 1





	1. 0: The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Open new window for music. Graphical and mature topics inside. Read with discretion!

Ok, let's begin. Let's start with Filbrick's death: why not? Some crudeness is not going to affect you much.

The whole Pines family was at night. Filbrick driving in his car: an old but quite reliable one. A familiar car, of a dark blue, a color that in his golden age was the beauty canon of cars. Caryn, his wife was looking out the window, toward the street, without much interest, thoughtful. Maybe thinking about her work and the other lies that are credible enough that it doesn't sound like complete stupidity, pretending that she knows what she’s doing, even if she is only a scammer who pretends to be a telephone psychic. A fraud, but one quite effective for people desperate enough (or stupid, or ignorant, call it what you want) to turn to a person who knows nothing to predict prosperity and a world of roses. She argued a little with Filbrick about Stanley's performance at school, which turned ridiculously bad, to decent performance, something that only surprised Filbrick a little; something that barely responded with a sad "congratulations" after Stanley told him when they went to pick them up at school. Something that put Stan with a bad taste in his mouth, who expected a better reaction. His mother, on the other hand, gave him a big hug, and as a reward, he took him for a milkshake at his favorite restaurant. She remembers the conversation she had with him. Caryn also take Ford with her: she could invite them both. The milkshakes were pretty cheap, and Caryn order a tea. This is where it all starts.

<https://youtu.be/fUWKig_MGJA>

-You surprise me, darling. - said Caryn, looking at Stanley, who wore his white shirt with red stripes, while taking his milkshake. Beside him, Ford was trying to pick up a cherry that was at the bottom of his glass with the cigarette, without much success. -Now tell me: did you have to make a pact with a sect or a mystical being to get good grades?- Caryn asked, with a mocking tone in his question. Stan laughed, and Ford smiled a little with the comment. -Of course not, ma! - Stanley replied with a little shame and laughter in his voice. -I just had to ask my brother for help to study for the exams and pass even with a 6.- Stanley says. Wow. It’s the only thing Caryn can think; she knows his children very well, and knows that Stanley is quite proud, and would not ask anyone for help. She looks at Ford, who seems to regret, trying to go unnoticed, but it's too late for him. –Stanford Filbrick Pines: did you help your brother to study? There’s nothing you should be sorry for. On the contrary, you should feel very good about yourself.- She says, and Ford pretends he didn't hear anything, but his mother keeps looking at him. - Let's see young man, are you going to tell me the truth or not? - Caryn says, in a slightly more threatening tone of voice. –Ma, you don't have to ask him anything. It didn't help, he didn't care about it either. - Stanley said with a somewhat bitter smile, and taking his brother’s shoulder, to which he responded with a small smile. Caryn notes that Stan puts a very special emphasis on the word _him_. She don't need to think twice to know who it is. - “Then that was to see their father happy once and for all.” - She told for herself. Filbrick always has to be that way twenty-four hours a day. That explained Stan's behavior, which was first with Fil to tell him about his feat. -I'm sorry love, is that your father is ... - She tries to think of a word that can redeem her husband in the eyes of her children, but nothing comes out. –Mom, my brother is right: he doesn't care about anything or anyone. It seems that he does not care ... and it seems that we’re shit for him.- Ford said, with a certain face of resentment. Caryn opened her eyes wide, shocked. Ford was not expected at all - which was especially cultured in its vocabulary- to use an insult of that caliber. Although, sooner or later, age would make him see bad words as something normalized and without moral obstacles to use them. He is already twelve, for the love of all that is sacred. -Don't say that about your father, kiddo, let alone with that language! What happens to both of you? your behavior is very inappropriate of yours.- Caryn scolded . She doesn't know where he could have learned it, but she suspects a certain little person next to him at a restaurant table. Although Caryn must admit that her son really expressed himself in a way she did, she has also felt about her husband at many times. Except for the word "shit," of course. –Doesn’t matter. Ma, he isn’t surprised at anything. If you put him in front of an ancient creature from the depths of the ocean, he would not care, as if it were something as normal as reading the newspaper. - Stanley says with some hatred in his words, a nuisance that eats him. - It doesn't seem to matter to us. I wish he was even more affectionate with us. - He says finally, with a gloomy and sad look. He is disappointed, that is evident: both are. It seems that they both planned everything for their father to say something, even give them a hug, even if it is a sign of affection. A childlike dream, naive but with a good heart. She looks around as a way to focus and know what to say for those statements.

Caryn felt a little sad, because in the depths of his being he knew that what his children were telling him was true. He tried to find something to admire: the other clients, for example, sitting in large red leather chairs, just like them. Around there are several photos of very popular artists of the sixties: Sophia Loren, Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, and the occasional star of years after the sixties. Like the good Freddie Mercury, Kurt Cobain and his grunge, and let's not forget his enmity with Axl Rose. But nothing of stars and celebrities after the 90's. She likes that restaurant because of that atmosphere - which is that of nostalgia and good art -: Caryn occasionally goes with her children and they are dedicated to find some other Hidden star somewhere in the restaurant. They enjoy it, since it’s a pretty fun game as far as it goes, and the food is pretty good. Caryn came back to reality and looked at his children: Stanley was resting his head on his hand, and Stanford was trying again to grab the cherry. -Pass it on: I'll try. - She says finally, and Ford passes him the glass. -Look and learn. - They both look at their mother, although Stanley remains in the same position, but has some interest. Caryn takes the cigarette, and begins to press the cherry, using the force of the other hand with the glass, pushing it, but does it gently so as not to cause a disaster. -Ma, I made the attempt that way and it won't work. - Ford says, with a somewhat serious smile. But Caryn , instead of doing the same, begins to spin the cigarette over the cherry, digging and making a hole first in the surface. Stop straining, and repeat the process, until the cigarette is well stuck in the cherry, and she checks if it is safe to take it out. He passes the glass to Ford. -Ready, all yours dwarf. - Caryn smiles at his son and puts the glass down. She takes her cup of tea, which was very hot when she arrived at the table, and took it. Peach tea: sweet and quite calm. Ford puts the cigarette in his mouth and takes out the fruit with his teeth and eats it, savoring the sweetness.

When she finishes her drink, Caryn takes out his card and pays by that means. She tells her children if they are ready to leave, and they both leave the table. She take Ford by the hand, seeing there what Caryn calls "his peculiarity." They leave the restaurant, feeling the heat of the summer sun, in the middle of a clear sky. It's already 5:42 in the afternoon, reminding Caryn that she should not postpone the purchase in the supermarket for the week. -Well, dwarfs, we have to go to the market right now to buy some things. – Caryn said, and sees on both sides of the street before cross. No car is coming, so the three pass. -Do you think you are strong enough to carry the bags, Stanley? - She asks, and he replies instantly: -Sure: I'm the strongest and most handsome son. - Stan flexes one of his arms, and Caryn laughs. Obviously, Stanley wanted to envy Ford in a joking way. -Hey, shut up! - Ford says laughing, punching his brother in the arm, who answers in the same way, both laughing out loud, and Caryn accompanies them inside.

-Hello? - Filbrick says , his voice raspy and tired. Maybe he had a long day at work at the pawnshop. Caryn listens to her husband's voice through the earpiece of her mobile phone, just outside of an _Acme_. –Hi sweetie. - Answers the woman who looks sideways at her children, who went to sit on a bench to wait, leaving at their feet the four shopping bags. - Caryn, you received about three calls from clients, and I answer it while you weren’t here. - Says Filbrick from the fixed phone they have at home. -Can I know where you three were? - Filbrick asks, in a bored but serious voice. She feels some anger towards her husband. Work, work, everlasting work. The woman imagines that in her husband's mind there’s only place for everything involved with that very tedious word: work. Can't she give them a reward for their merits (and also say, to take away the bad taste in their mouths)? –Well: congratulating my children as they deserve, Filbrick. - Caryn replied caustically, among disillusioned and angry. - It can be said that I did better than you. - Add as a subtle message that means: "something that you missed." Meanwhile, stunned and on the other side of the line, Filbrick tries to justify himself: -Oh well: if Stanley does better after summer, I promise to congratulate him better. For now, it remains the same as before. - Caryn ignites briefly, remaining a few seconds in silence. Trying not to raise her voice as a result of Fil's heartless phrase. Caryn says the following to give more clues to her husband, and make him to understand: –If you didn’t notice, Stan is getting better for you. He told me everything at _60's Celebrities_ : he even asked his brother for help to study and not have to go to summer school again. Don't you see that he told you especially to you so you can be proud of him? - She looks expectant at Filbrick's possible reaction, which is silent for the moment. As a mother, she has a predilection to notice the changes. It can be said that Caryn has done _the twice of the work_.

–Look: surely Stanley is just manipulating us both and he gets everything he wants. - -Speak clearly, okay? - Caryn doesn't understand what kind of action Stan can be doing to scam them. For a few seconds she feels proud of him (lying is something "given" in the family). -Would you think that Stan has become a saint overnight? You and I know that old habits don’t die. What if Ford knows somethin’? - Filbrick closes sharply. Caryn takes time to think about those words, and understands that Stanley might be lying. Caryn understands the words of Fil. Ford may be supporting him, maybe he convinced him in one way, or blackmailed him... no. But that’s completely impossible. Stanley couldn’t hurt his brother: with the times he has defended him at school and she finds out over the phone that Stanley was hit hard for that reason. That’s taking it to the extreme and in paranoia.

The mother abandons these conclusions, becoming defensive with her Stan: –Fine, I recognize it: Stan can be unruly, disobedient, but I don't think he would lie to me. And less could force his brother to say something that isn’t true. - Caryn says, trying to put a firm tone of voice, but only sounds insecure and doubtful. -Let's do something- She proposes. -: we will go on the day of the delivery of notes, and we will see if my Stanley tells the truth or not. Meanwhile, we cannot know for sure. - Caryn is between believing in her husband's theory that it’s more reasonable, or believing to his son, who affirms something that he cannot prove in the meantime. -I think its fine. For me, it sounds good. - Filbrick says, with a sincere and reasonable tone of voice, although a bit scrutinizing. Caryn tells him where they are, and that they wait for him at the exit of the Brick District supermarket. Wait a few minutes, and see her husband's car that’s already looking for parking. Upon arrival, Caryn kisses her husband with an empty kiss, although she is somewhat bored. -Well, we're leaving. - Filbrick says dryly, and with a look as a greeting, looks at his two children. -Stanley, give me those bags: I’ll carry them. - It doesn't sound like a question. -Don't worry. I’ll manage. - Says Stan, who looks serious and distant. He take the heaviest bags, and go to the car. Filbrick looks at him, and decides to help Caryn and Ford with some bags. They put everything in the trunk, getting in the car, and they leave. The twins put on their belts almost by inertia, an act that Caryn approves. Safety first.

All right. We return to where this story began to be told. The unique fact is that Filbrick has a few seconds to live. Of course, he doesn't know that.

Children play thumb fight in the back seat. Although Stanley tries to beat his brother, his opponent's fingers are faster. Caryn stops looking in the rearview mirror and looks at her husband, who’s wearing a formal straw-colored jacket, his hat, gray tie, navy blue shirt, perfectly tumbled shoes, and with his sunglasses. Wait ... it's already 7:40 at night, its dark, and anyone barely see a soul. How can you drive with those things on? “-Well- Think Caryn -, it doesn't matter. If Filbrick thinks he can see well with those things, there he. -” Fil for when it reaches a red traffic light. Caryn tries to analyze why her husband is wearing that to drive. However, nobody notices that on their left, there are two people on a motorcycle. They wouldn’t mind paying attention if they knew what they are capable of. The passenger gets off, and goes to the car. It is almost completely black, with a jacket and hood, black gloves with some pretty unnatural red details: they seem to have been added by a few drops of paint ... or blood. Boots and dark jeans.

The man goes with one hand in one of his pockets. They are close to residential buildings, about two hundred and thirty-three meters from the Glass Shard Beach. The stranger touches the car window with his knuckles, and at the moment when Filbrick turns his head to see what produced that sound. The criminal, as agile as they are, pulls out a weapon. A snubbed revolver, with a small mouthpiece and that does not lock when hidden in clothing. Aim at the children, who look at the deadly emptiness of the weapon. -This is an assault, get out of there! - Yells the criminal. Filbrick isn’t an idiot, and he was aware that he would be mugged someday. So he wisely picks up a copper mitt discreetly. Filbrick did not sell it in his pawnshop because it was a family inheritance, and he left it near a very well hidden corner, near the handlebar of changes, and went with the thief. The criminal was still targeting the children, but Stanley was protecting his brother with his body, a very noble act on his part. But neither of them would be shot.

In a distraction, the thief began to look at the children, about to laugh at the stupidity of that boy in a striped shirt. That mistake was terrible for him: Filbrick hit his face well, taking advantage of the distraction. The criminal inadvertently fired, and the flash lit the street, and several people began to go to their windows to see what caused the noise. Filbrick, believing he had knocked out the criminal, went for the driver of the motorcycle, who approached him with a razor. -Come on, you can! - Mumbled Stanley, who couldn’t deny his father's boldness. The criminal was going to stab him in the stomach, but Filbrick grabbed the enemy arm, pulled him and punched his nose, which broke, cracking. The criminal dropped the knife in its fall to the ground, and the edge gave off a small twinkle. Crouching down, the thief tried to grab his broken nose, which was also bleeding.

Filbrick went to the car, and was about to open the door and get out of there. His son Stanley was radiant: his father had saved them, saved him and his family, and he was very relieved that nothing happened to him. Filbrick could be a bad father any time: however, it’s his father. And he loves him because of that. Filbrick was furious. Adrenaline made him aware, and he was predisposed to save his family. He wasn’t afraid, and that was an incredible boldness. Stupid, but very daring. The first assailant was with a horrible pain in his jaw, although he remained standing despite the pain. The gun was close, so he grabbed it with tares. Filbrick saw nothing. –You fuckin’ bastard, take this! - The assailant was behind Filbrick, so he aimed at his back, being perfectly shot. Everyone in the car; Caryn, Ford and Stanley, saw the thief pull the trigger. –Pa, watch out! - The twins shouted in unison. But it didn't work. 

There were three shots, some horrible and shrill sounds, which knocked at Filbrick’s back, who was propelled to the door of his car, and turning, to see how the thieves were fleeing. -Fuck, Joel, get the fuck up, we have to move! - The assailant shouted, and Joel, with a little difficulty, got on the motorcycle, and they fled at great speed. -Filbrick, oh my God! - Caryn shouted. She got out of the car and looked at her husband. The children were hugging, completely afraid. Filbrick was unrecognizable. His glasses and hat fall down, three holes were coming out of his shirt. His blood dripped from the driver's door. Filbrick was perspiring, and sweating a lot. He formed a face of agony. Caryn ran as fast as his heels allowed her. Now, all the residents were leaving their homes with fear and feet in dusty; some seeing from their windows everything that happened, still dumbfounded. "-God saint- They thought -: they shot a man-". Caryn knelt close to her husband, removing her jacket mitt. She took it and began to put pressure on the wounds without logic. -No, no, no, no, no ... Fil, no ... - Caryn said to himself. She was somewhat troubled, starting to tear and stutter. -Help, we need help, please! - Caryn was desperate, already losing her temper. A great mass of murmuring people had already gathered, which highlighted the occasional cry of terror for what they were seeing. -My God, someone call an ambulance! - Someone shouted from the crowd, and some people in the crowd began to take out their phones, some calling the police and telling everything that happened. Others, calling a hospital. A person from the crowd ran to help, helped Caryn keep up the pressure. While all this was happening, Ford, hugging his brother, saw his father: lying on the floor, bleeding, with trouble breathing. That broke his heart, and he began to cry inconsolably.

And beyond, about two hundred and thirty-three meters, on Glass Shard Beach, a piece of newspaper was fluttering. It flew in silence. It crashed into the entrance of a cave, which was covered by several planks, which have been painted over time. The wind (or destiny) was driving that piece of newspaper into the cave, and that piece gave way to wind power, entering through one of the holes. It slipped into an old wrecked ship, resting on the boat.


	2. 1: Broken until weary, until the end of the road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Open new window for YouTube links to inprove the experience if you want.

If you were wondering about metaphors about death, and you had a cynical and dark point of view, you would compare it to the lottery. Why not? If you see it that way, it could explain very well what happened to Patriarch Pines: either you earn it today, or you can earn it tomorrow. If not, any day will be.

Ford trembled out of the car to see Filbrick, feeling a cold sweat on his back, and a huge heaviness in his body. Behind him, Stanley followed him. The blood was one of the worst parts of the stage: seeing his father agonize, staining the ground red, his eyes unfocused and lost, it was horrible. The crowd kept calling, and many more people were helping Caryn and Robert (that's how the Good Samaritan is called). –Ma… - The two children were scared, with a pale face. His mother looked at them with a hopeless look. His hands, his clothes ... although red, blood it could be differentiated from the clothes. His father looked lost, seeing nothing in particular. “- Maybe it's already… -” Stanley thought, which turned pale at even mentioning the idea. His mother, just as pale as her children, went to hug them. The two corresponded with the hug. She was trembling. Their mother was trembling with fear, with horror. She grabbed their cheeks, gently, smearing them with blood ... their father's blood. The mark on Caryn's hand was on Ford's left cheek, and Stanley had it on the right. -Oh God, I-I sorry!- Caryn said, being at the point of emotional collapse.

<https://youtu.be/Ox3laUdQsn8>

The strongest twin looked at his father. It was an image that slipped into his retina so as not to leave. It was a hypnotically horrifying image: this wasn’t like an action movie. It wasn’t an eighties film with Schwarzenegger or Stallone, making it seem that getting shot is a casual thing. Stan noticed that getting shot was a cold sweat, with shaking and paleness. The face of pain and vain resistance was the real thing. Stanley couldn't stand to see that for much longer. The holes in his dad's body began to flow out a strong red liquid. The idea of dying like this disturbed him. He began to have arcades, so he had to step away from the crowd and go to the corner where the traffic light was. He vomited silently, trying not to to be heard. He didn’t vomit too much: just something similar to brown saliva, feeling the stinging of bile in his throat. -¿S-Stanley? -

Stan cleans his mouth and turns to see who’s talking to him and that is precisely Stanford. He’s about to cry, just like his mother. There are traces of regret on his face. -I'm fine, nothing happens to me. - Stan says, trying to look boastful with a carefree fake tone. Ford looks at him with a lot of sadness. Begin to cry. First, is only a whimper, but quickly turns into tears continued. They pass through his face, his nose orange. He needs help. Stan stops smiling. He approaches him and hugs him tightly. Ford doesn't want to release it, it can't. His glasses, which are now about to fall from his face, fog. -I'm scared, Stanley." W-wh-what just happened? - Asked Ford in a run. The words come from the depths of his being. He is still shocked, not knowing what to do. He hasn’t digested the facts. It hurt. Stanford doesn't like it. He doesn’t want to suffer. Should he cry for his father, after all those years of hollow interactions, after the cold and flat words? "-Yes, good job ... I'm not impressed ... - ".

Stanford thinks if Filbrick deserved this. He deserves it? Filbrick defended them at all costs, regardless of whether he was injured. Ford’s very grateful to him. But, why has he always had such an attitude like that, why does he treat them almost indifferently, as if they didn't matter what really matters? While they hug, Filbrick is only seconds away from death, feeling the wings of the grim reaper around his body. He can't almost hear anything. Everything seems to be silent. Everything is so blurry, but he sees a few people around him. He only sees two women, recognizing them for their … makeup, for their lipstick? The rest of them, he cannot see them clearly, Filbrick find it very difficult. Everything is ... how was that word? It is assumed that this word serves to define something that cannot be defined logically. Where is he, what happened, what is his name? Filbrick turned his head. It hurts a lot to move, but he must do it in the meantime. Do he hear the... do he hear them? They are on his left. Although it is very blurry, it distinguishes two figures, of a small size, far apart. Glued to each other. Recognize... his children. They are crying ... but why?

Stanley, who was hugging his brother, looks at his father from the opposite shoulder. He turned his head where they are. He doesn’t have his eyes lost, but he is staring at them, making a great effort to do that action. He stops hugging his brother, who is crying a lot. - _Sixer:_ look. - Stan points to his father. Ford instinctively follows the finger, and knows what to do. But he can’t. He seriously can't. -Stan, I don't ...- Ford mutters in a withered voice. But Stanley is the strongest brother of the two. He grabs his brother by the shoulders, and looks at him, straight in the eye. Brown eyes, full of life. -You have to go with him ... we’ve to be strong enough... for him. - Ford is undecided. It is very painful to want to see, to have to be there, when all he want is run away. But he acquires value, and agrees to go with his brother. Stanford may want to run away from the image that drills his mind. That between the first -be going with his evicted father -, and the second - leave -, the second comes first. Although, he can't be a coward. He can’t go from the fear that death produces. A tiny part of him is what convinced him to go: Fil may never have been an exemplary father, but he is _his_ father. A dad there is only one in this life. And deep down, really deep down, Ford want it. Maybe that's what prompted Stan to convince him to go.

-Pa ... we're here.- Stan says when he arrives with Filbrick. The man lying on the floor looks at them. –Stanley ... – Filbrick cough. He covers his mouth. The result?: blood streaks in the hand. In the view of this, Roger looks at Caryn. A look that says a lot with not much: “he doesn't have much time. There’s nothing we can do for him. -You two… come’ere. - Filbrick says. They don’t disobey. Stanley takes his hand. How could he talk so badly about his father just a few hours ago? Filbrick makes every effort to speak to them. He looks at them in a very strange way: he looks at them with _worry._ That way of seeing his children for the last time is weird. –Caryn ... protect them for me. - He says, with heaviness in his voice, with pain. Caryn takes him by the other hand and puts it in her face. - Fil... don’t... - Caryn is starting to think that her husband is hallucinating. He may not have shown much love in all his years of marriage, but she is his wife. And he loves her. He looks at her with a smile, telling her with that gesture that he loves her with everything that he can be named. -Take care of them for me ... I beg that to you ... and I love you, Caryn." – Filbrick cough again. The people around depart, as the ambulance has just arrived to take Filbrick. But it’s too late.

Filbrick caresses Caryn, and she cries inconsolably. Suddenly, Fil looks at Ford. Ford, who has not left him, who always came beaten from school, who helped him in his pawn shop, who was somewhat withdrawn. Who was the almost ideal son. -Ford ... I want you to know that you’re amazing ... you surprise me every day with your achievements ... - He takes one of his hands, and open his fingers. -Let no one tell you ... you can't do something- Filbrick shows his fingers to his son, as a sign that he should be proud of his six fingers. “Don’t let yourself stop for nothing and no one.” –Don’t let that to affect you ... don’t stop for a jerk who tells you that you cannot... - Ford, who has not stopped crying, nods. -Yes-yes. Thank you.- says Ford. Only Stanley is left. Filbrick has been disappointed in his son for his little academic interest. By his attitude. His fierce way of being. -Stanley ... I want you to know that ... no matter what you have done ... I still have always loved you ...- Filbrick said. Stanley couldn't believe it. Start stuttering in surprise. His father was not expected to ever say that about him. He had come to think that he hated him for his hardness. -D-did you… ? - -Always.-

Filbrick was smiling. It was not a sarcastic or ironic smile: it’s an honest smile. He is already very weak, but he has the strength to do two things. Calls for his family to stay with him, to don’t leave him alone. They are in his visual field. That’s what Filbrick now wants to look at. He may have been shot down, but it seems that the pain is leaving his body. It is not that it goes suddenly, that it goes slowly, and it is a beautiful feeling. It’s like getting out of the flames and being in absolute peace, it’s as if death wasn’t something threatening, but an old friend who comes to give you her unconditional support . -B-be careful ... - The three look at him, completely confused. When they hear that, they said Filbrick thinks thieves are close to them. They expect what he will say next...

–Good luck… -

And now, a soul flutters. Maybe Filbrick Pines' soul is going to heaven, or he may discover that there is nothing, that there is none: that everything is over. Or that he admire the rarity of the universe, and cannot express WHAT it was that he looked at. Or that he be received to a great party, that a paradise is created to his size, that recarnates in another person or animal. Or that the last thing that he feel spread throughout the cosmos. May his conscience shift to the mind of Stanley and Ford, and he have to admire their lives until they die. Or that his life be repeated exactly the same, because the universe expands and contracts continuously . That he reincarnates in another person and has to live every single life of all beings on earth, experiencing every horror and every pleasure of every man, woman and child. And then, become in a higher being as relate Andy Weir in his history, _The Egg_. Who knows. Let’s wish the best of lucks to Filbrick Pines.

But while he was going straight to an uncertain destiny, his family was with his body. Alive. -Pa... Pa, answer me. - Stanley cried. Caryn looks away with sadness, shedding tears. He’s gone. Her husband is finally dead. And within Stanford's mind, an alarm signal went on. Stanley shakes his father to wake up. “- He’s not dead, please God, he can’t be dead ... –” Stanley says to himself, who is now going to start crying for real. -Stanley, there’s… nothing to do. He's… gone. - Says Caryn, who takes Stanley's shoulder. Although her words are realistic and try to assimilate his world in that way, she can’t. It’s a great weight that is impossible to carry on. The blood in her hands is already dry. Ford just looks at his father’s adjacent corpse. - No. - Ford says. Stanley and Caryn stare at him. –Stanford, he’s not alive. We can’t do something…- Caryn says. -You can't ... no ... I refuse to believe it. Pa... - Ford tries to see his father, shakes him, and moves him. But he does not react.

Stanford’s mind breaks apart. It slowly cracks like glass, and then explodes in a powerful way, destroying everything in its path. Cry loudly, while trying to hold back tears. He clung to his mother, who comforted him as best she could with caresses. Stan also protects him with a hug. The three cried, feeling desolate by the feelings of emptiness.

Ford woke up from his sleep. He feels a cold sweet in his body. He looks around: he’s at a certain height from the ground because it uses a bunk with Stanley. Then, Ford look at the clock: two-nine o'clock in the morning. He had the same nightmare. He has had it for three days, and he wasn’t able to sleep. –You were making noises. Is that dream again? - Stan asks: maybe he woke up for Ford. Stanford takes off the sheets on top. He doesn't want to talk much about his nightmares. He usually doesn’t like to talk to him about those topics. He has dull ideas; he doesn't know what to say or what to think. His eyes lie down in the dark reflecting. After two days of Filbrick’s death, Ford was desolate, in his inner world. He thought about his confused feelings. Anger, abandonment and sadness. He was thinking about the funeral, the tears of his grandfather and his uncle Marty. He remembered the black clothes, the gray sky. However, there was no rain. He recalled the condolences of the relatives. And he remembered the outburst of rage when they got home. He locked himself in his room. Ford saw his posters, his sci-fi-themed decoration.

_He_ was making fun of his pain. It all started with a distant and not very audible laugh. Stanford couldn't understand it at first. He was alone. The only voices that should have been were outside, being from his family. But the voice was one he heard so recently. It was etched in his head. It began as an echo like from a cave, but increased to a powerful degree. It rumbled in his ears. It was a sly and shrill laugh. Stanford tried to cover his ears as best he can to mitigate those laughs. -Shut. Shut up, son of a bitch ... - Ford muttered under his breath. He saw his room again, and concluded the vile chuckle was caused by the posters, by the decoration. He approached one of these -which were the sign of a green alien with a bulky head and gigantic eyes. He started it gently, not very sure of his hypothesis. When he removed it, the laughters (which had now multiplied) became a little less noisy.

Ford's face darkened. The voice was of _him_ : his father's murderer laughed uncontrollably at his broken feelings. Gradually his chest began to grow bigger when his breathing became more animalistic. Tears and slight mucous slipped. In a fit of rage, Stanford took another poster by its edges and pulled it violently. He broke in half, making a loud breaking noise. Ford had more fierce initiative and began to get rid of his decoration that took so much effort and dedication of time. With everything he took from his place, the murderer's voices became less audible. Ford muttered the following: “-I hate you, motherfucker! I hate you I hate you, you hideous monster! – ”. Stanford took care of getting rid of all those laugh amplifiers. I couldn't believe that he could go unpunished. He wanted that murder to pay the debt. It wasn’t justice. He could be somewhat hypocritical in that: now he appreciated his father? But he regretted with all his soul the rejection he felt about his father, meanwhile he’s noticing Filbrick is not anymore in his life. Now that he lost him, there was nothing left. He could say everything he wanted to. However, he loved him too deeply in his heart. Quickly, Ford went to the kitchen for a garbage bag: he, in those moments could barely hear the laughter. Although, Ford needed to make sure the laughs were not coming back.

<https://youtu.be/lB6a-iD6ZOY>

Stan realized that something in his brother was weirder than usual. Although it had only been two days, Stanley noticed that Ford has been quite strange in his way of behaving. He followed him among the people at the funeral, who noticed his attempt to pass, and instantly felt sorry for him. For the children it had to have been a hard blow from now. –Hey. Do ‘ya find- Stan was going to ask in a more lively tone of voice, until he noticed the face of his twin: he was releasing fat tears, without wiping them off. The positive face he made was erased when he noticed the expression between anger and dejection from his brother. There was a hint of madness, mania. - ... well? - Stan managed to finish his question. Ford was firmly holding the door where the plastic bags were stored, which closed with some force. Without answering the question, Stanford retired rudely to his room. Stan followed him worried. Ford wanted to close the door securely, but before he could do anything, Stanley prevented him from doing so by setting foot and entering. He closed the door behind him, seeing with the characteristic horror of a child that a part of his most precious treasures was scattered on the floor. One or another of the posters was destroyed in half. A cup of a jelly man was broken into thousands of shatters, with his remains scattered on the floor. -What are you doing? - -Throwing all the garbage off. - Ford replies dryly. He shows that he isn’t kidding, when he will grab a poster and throw it away.

Stan rushes to snatch the poster from Ford, and puts it on as if it were a mask. With that gesture, try to deter Stanford in an animated way . -Are you crazy? Why are you going to throw Zording? - Ford doesn't react. -What happens, Ford: I'm not actual welcome in your mothership? - The six-finger boy doesn't pay much attention to his brother's attempts to get the truth out of him. He takes Zording and stores it in the garbage bag. He goes to the broken cup and throws it without looking. Stanford leaves his room, closing the bag. Stan follows him, down the stairs that lead to the pawn shop and then to the street. Ford stays near to the door, standing very still, with his hand on the doorknob. The burlesque sound was completely gone. Stanford didn’t turn back, even though he knew his twin was there, waiting for an answer. Stanford had a brief epiphany, a flash that indicated something: his mind was decomposing. He couldn’t find a better metaphor than that, since the brain can be considered as a great computer. In this situation, he realizes that he needs to meditate on his actions. There were never voices. His mind was playing a bad joke. He is ashamed to confess that he had a "tantrum." To avoid having to tell the truth, Ford tries to lie: -I-I'm sorry ... I didn't know what I was doing. - Stan stares at him, being completely still. There was still a trace of anger in Stanford. - What happened? - Ford just stayed there for a few seconds, before sitting on the floor, and trying to hide his face so Stan wouldn't see him cry. Embarrassed, and not wanting Stanley to see him as a crybaby, he muttered: -Why dad, Stan? Why did they do that to him? Why he? - Now, in his tribulations, and after anger, all he has left is a great tide of doubt.

\- I feel so strange, with all this. It isn’t fair that he killed my Pa. It’s not fair that the deceased, he have to still alive! - A wave of boredom crossed Ford's body. Stanley kept listening until he approached him and sat next to him. Stan put his hand on his brother's shoulder. - Hey, lil’ bro: I'm feeling as shitty as you. It's ... so ... - Stan made a huge figure with his empty hand. Stanford understood that as his way of saying that the whole situation was too heavier for him. That encouraged him to think that he wasn’t alone. -I don't know why or what happened... but there is something I’m completely sure of: those two are going to get caught, and they will go to jail. - With those words, although fanciful, they encouraged Stanford. He smiled, excited. – R-really? - Stanford asks who looked up. In response, Stanley shows him the palm of his hand. –High six? - With that gesture, Stan is assuring his twin that he’s not lying at all. Stanford smiles and raises his hand. –High six. - Both crashed their hands. Stan helped lift Ford off the ground. The two of them stayed a few seconds in the pawn shop, just at the right time to see the first rays of the sun: a little hope invaded them in those moments. A small glow filtered through the windows of the store.

Stanford finishes remembering that day with love. He whispers and looks at the floor: -Stan. - -Yeah? - He asks in a tired tone. -Could you ... sleep with me, just… for tonight? - A moment of silence. Ford feels ridiculous about such a childish request. Despite feeling a little better about his feelings, he’s still afraid of his own mind and his nightmares. He hears Stan moving, confirming that his brother agreed with the petition. Ford searches through the semi-darkness for the stairs that allow him to get off his bunk. Stan made it a space for Stanford to enter. The six-finger child is positioned. And fleetingly, Stan opens his eyes, and positions them on top of his watch, which indicates the time and date:

2:15 am Jun/15/2013.

That makes Stanley smile: now he and his brother are thirteen years old. He stares at the bunk, and falls asleep with a smile.

It's been a week since Filbrick died.


	3. 2: Happy Birthday!

<https://youtu.be/8eHj9Fev_Po>

It is a beautiful day. Outside the birds sang. The sun illuminated everything it touched. It was a perfect day, with a nice breeze, an ideal climate. Little by little, one of the brothers opened his eyes, finally being able to enjoy the benefits of the morning.

Stanford pulls the covers aside as he feels the warmth of the sun settle on his eyes. Stan is still sleeping. The boy gets up and looks at the beautiful clear blue sky, with hardly any clouds in the afterlife, with the people of the district strolling, going to work or taking advantage of the first hours to go shopping. “Wow. Stanley, wake up: you should see ...” He stopped talking. Ford erased his smile. Out of the corner of his eye he began to perceive that in microseconds the sky turned gray, dark clouds making shadows in his room. Laughter, teasing approached his head. Stanley was white as a sheet, his chest full of blood. His corpse was completely violated, as if a true beast had devoured him without contemplation. He was going to scream: Ford was going to scream, he already had it about to do it...

“... Ford, c'mon, wake up. Guess what day is today.” Stanford quickly opened his eyes. He felt cold for a few moments, like he was still in that nightmare. Stanley was alive. It was just a bad dream. "Wake up, _Sixer_ , today’s our birthday!" Saying this, Stan punches his brother in the face with a pillow. Without opening his eyes, Ford searches for his glasses on the nightstand. Upon finding them, they are quickly put on. “You know what your gift is, don't you?” Stan asks in a mischievous tone. Ford leans against the head of the bed. He didn't ask his brother for anything; would it be a joke or something? He remembers absolutely nothing, not even the slightest hint that he wanted something on specific.

Stanley sits on the edge of the bed, putting his hand on Stanford's hair and ruffling it to finish waking up him. Ford is finally ready to listen to Stan, who looked certainly happy. He was looking expectantly at Stanford's possible reaction. He bent down and rummaged under the bed, placing a red paper-wrapped gift in Stanford's hands. –Yup, there is no reason to thank me. Enjoy it. - Ford smiled. The mere consideration made the gift something perfect. He didn't know what to say. He was stunned. -Hey! What are you waiting for?: open it! - Stan shakes Ford's shoulder a little to cheer him up. Ford breaks the paper with force, leaving the paper that was taking out stacked. The result was to bare a case, which when opened revealed a necklace that Stanford took. It was an owl, of tyto breed. He spread his wings like he was going to take flight. It was highly detailed on the head up part. The body disintegrated into a metal vine that firmly held a small capsule of non-translucent plastic. He even had his little legs made down to the last detail. “A few months ago I saw that you were really interested in this when we were passin' by Crab Avenue.” And I thought it would be a good gift.” Stan approaches the curtain to close it.

Suddenly, the owl's body began to flash a soft green light. Shining and accompanying the little darkness that was thanks to the curtain. It was peaceful and calming to see the light illuminate the room. It was as if something was accompanying them. It was weird, but it's as if someone was watching them closely. They couldn't feel it, but a strange presence was with them, watching. The light in seconds went out. “Wait, are you kidding me?” The effect of the necklace stopped working. Little by little it flickered and the light faded. Stan grabbed Ford's necklace, and tapped it a few times to try to activate it again. It didn't work. “Oh, hell. Sorry, _Pointdexter_ : it's just a trinket.” Ford didn't care. Anyway, he liked the gift. He smiled and said: “It doesn't matter, Stanley. I will repair it. I'll find out how. Oh, right- Stanford got up and went behind the nightstand. He gave Stan his gift. The package was slightly larger than Stan's (it was decorated with blue paper). Stan ripped the paper, leaving a photo frame on his legs. It was flipped. "Um… thanks?" The little Ford did was sneak roll his eyes while smiling. He couldn't believe that his brother was unintuitive. Stan finally turned the frame over, only to stop smiling at the photo.

It was Filbrick. He had two lumps in his arms (it looked like his brother and he when they were babies), smiling. Smiling like never before. Smiling at the camera. The blue frame was full of beautiful decorations. For example, some colored crystals stuck in some corners. In another was a pretty seashell. “Stan... do you like it?” Ford asked with a certain tone of regret when he noticed that Stan only stared at the frame without an apparent smile. But, Stan only lunged at him to give him a big hug. “I-it's the best gift you could have ever given me ...” Ford sighed inwardly, and welcomed the hug. “-I'm glad you liked.” Stanford thought. The two separated. “Are you crying?” Stanford asks quickly, to which Stanley raised a fist to his eyes and began to wipe away: “No: asbestos entered my eyes.”

The brothers left their room feeling hungry and after thanking each other. They were in the living room: nice and comfortable. It is years old, with soft yellow wallpaper. Her television was on top of a library (filled with various things: horror books, science fiction in the right dose, comics painstakingly collected by Stanley, and music. Lots of music). In the kitchen was Caryn, who was busy cooking something. They both go to the dining room, and wait for their mother. She is wearing a football shirt, with the number 04 on the back. In addition to pants of different scales of blue. “Well, who's having a birthday today?” Her mother finally looks up to say good morning. Stan thinks: his mother has slightly reddish eyes. Maybe she fell asleep with tears still on her face. Why haven't she told them how she was feeling, or at least to someone else? She must have been the most emotionally charged to deal with. He felt very sorry for his mother. Is she trying to pretend that she is supporting herself for them?

“So, what’s the breakfast?” Asked Stan when it comes out of his musings when they were starting to bother. Her mother tells her that they are going to eat waffles (which they ended quite quickly). Stanford was engrossed in seeing his new possession. “Ford, where did you get that necklace?” Asked Caryn when noticing his son. He said that it was Stanley’s gift. Their mother looked at her children: they always take care of each other, no matter what. It is a relationship of real mutual affection. Stan's light went on and he went back to his room. “–Where is that dwarf going? -” Caryn wondered mentally when the boy left and returned a few minutes later. He gave her Ford's gift. His mother had almost the same reaction as Stan when opening the gift: she was left for a few moments with absolutely nothing to say, and then moved. “Ma...” Stan said suddenly, who looked at his mother, who was already starting to have watery eyes. “Look, boys: I'm going to go get some things for the cake” Caryn says to her children to explain what they could do. “. And so that you don't get bored when you're locked up, why don't you go to the beach? Let's see if you get some color, pair of vampires.” Caryn makes a graceful movement to grab the nose of Ford, who smiles at the little joke. “Do it, or I’ll make you carry all the bags.” After a while, the twins walked out the front door. Stanford stood for a few seconds at the door before following Stan. He turned to see his mother. “Ma...” “What's the matter, honey?” “Are you okay?” Caryn was silent for a few seconds. Her smiling didn’t change. Caryn replied, after shaking her head almost imperceptibly to react: “Of course I am, Mousy. See both sides before crossing the streets, fine?” With this, Ford gives him a bigger smile, and finally, he leaves.

Caryn is undaunted. Sharpen her ear to know if her children finally left home. She finally hears the twins when they close the door. Caryn erases her smile, ceasing finally. She couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to pretend, but she should. Caryn did not want to worry his children. She ... she honestly tried to be good, to try to be fine for them. But acting like a happy mother was tearing her apart. I really needed to tell them that she ... Caryn sighed. She took a deep breath before getting up. She needed an escape. Caryn went to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of wine. A cup, and then she returned to the table. Caryn poured herself a good squirt, and took a sip. For a few moments, she saw her husband's photo. She just couldn't stop thinking about Fil. It was catching her. She wanted to continue: she couldn't stand it anymore because it was too painful for her to remember the facts. But it was constant comings and goings that her own memory used to torment her with the fact: “-Filbrick is dead, and now you are alone.-” With certain bitterness, the widow remembers how her story with her Fil, with her man began. And it was, at Glass Shard beach.

It seemed like a _déjà vu_ : one of the most important places for Caryn was the beach. From that day on, that place took on a kind of magical importance after she saw him, and that same interest for the beach was conveyed to her children in the same way. Caryn took a drink to accompany herself to confront her memories a little better. It was exactly the day she left work. Caryn resigned from _The Drunk Clam_. Caryn barely received less than acceptable pay for her services -other than that the bar was a dump that preached a bad death.- She walked near the edge, barefoot. She could feel the salty waters of his feet. Caryn was stunned, thinking of one thing: “-now what?-” She walked and walked, until she collided. She hadn't realized it. Caryn immediately demanded: “Hey, don't you see where…” Caryn couldn't finish her complaint when she saw Filbrick: he was there, looking at her. May a lot of people don’t believe that love at first sight exists: it seems to them an invention worthy of tales like _Cinderella_ , _Snow White_ , or any story that wasn’t written by Carlo Collodi. Although, Caryn didn’t care at all that millions thought about the subject: she believed from that moment that this type of affectionateness existed.

After that day, Caryn was only dreamed of by that man: he looked perfect. His body, his broad shoulders, his well-tanned features , all of him incredible for Caryn's taste. For a week, with what can be described as a kind of not-so-healthy obsession, she searched as best she could for the number of that stranger, or at least something that could get her to see him again. She was able to hear from him little by little: he was working in a construction as just another little helper. Caryn more or less knew where to locate him, and when she saw him, Caryn asked if he could make a date with her. To his surprise, Filbrick accepted. They confirmed the day and hour, and separated at the crossroads. When she was alone, the woman jumped for joy: she did it, dammit: she did it. It should be clarified that Filbrick only accepted for one reason; which was that for one day he wanted to escape his tedious routine. He admitted that Caryn was pretty, although the date could help clear his mind. But hey: that, or having to carry concrete bags to the mixer with hot sun stalking. The expected date night came, and they both went to a karaoke bar. Before that, they went to dinner. Caryn was damn nervous: it was her first time on a date since high school, and she didn't want to screw up. Filbrick concealed his boredom as best he could. Between accepting the date, or having an arduous workday, he preferred the latter.

By the time they reached to the bar, the two of them went to a room so they could be alone (Fil, despite being on the point of falling asleep from the bluntness, he had enough chivalry to invite drinks from his own pocket ). Caryn approached the screen. Filbrick looked completely neutral, but to himself he said: “-I'm sure this girl is one of those people who think they sing amazing, but they are a complete junk.-“ “Have any preference?" Caryn asked , and turned around. Filbrick replied quickly: “Whatevah you want.” Caryn felt overwhelmed: she felt Fil's discontent. She quickly searched for a song she might know. And she did find it: _Maybe_ , by Janis Joplin. The woman's eyes flashed upon finding her. She selected it, and began to listen to the beginning of the song.

[Janis Joplin - Maybe](https://youtu.be/cM0T9fumD5k)

It all started with that hippie rhythm, the typical rhythm of the late sixties. Trumpets were quickly introduced after strumming a guitar. There, the song became much faster. Filbrick prepares for disaster, seeing Caryn imitate Janis in her smooth, wave-like movements. But, inevitably, Caryn opened her mouth to barf the words: “ _Maybe ... Oh, if I could pray, and I try, dear, you might come back home, home to me_.” Filbrick opened his eyes. His surprise was huge when he saw Caryn sing, but not regular , but incredible. Her voice wouldn’t be the most appropriate for the _blues_ genre, but she was setting the nail in every way: Caryn was feeling it, understanding what each word meant, and taught it with her voice and movements. “ _Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, dear, I guess I might have done something wrong, Honey, I'd be glad to admit it! Ooh, come on home to me! Honey, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe yeah!_ ” For God’s sake: she seemed wild, rude, and strong, she had an almost unreal authenticity. She contorted with almost every part of his body: neither arms nor feet were indifferent to the emotion . She looked like a reincarnation of _Pearl_. Caryn just let go. It looked like a lioness.

Caryn flew to the following verse: “ _Please, please, please, please, oh won't you reconsider, babe, now come on, I said come back, won't you come back to me!_ ” And there, in the final part of the penultimate strophe, the presence of the Texan girl known as Janis Joplin in Caryn Pines was felt for a few seconds: that same essence, the same characterization was in her for a while. “ _Maybe, dear, oh maybe, maybe, maybe, lemme help you: show me how. Honey maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe, yeah! Ooh!_ ” The song decreased. It went out, but the spark was still felt in the twist movements of the feet as it turned slowly off. Caryn just felt weightless at the time. She had done the best she could. Caryn stopped playing the dead character, to turn to see her date. Which was applauding her. They were not ironic applause: they were authentic. They both left after a while, and walked next to him. “Wow: you have talent.” Caryn muttered a somewhat shameless "thanks". Filbrick was looking across the street . "So… did you have fun?" Caryn asked. Well, it was the moment of truth. “Well, yeah, of course. It was fun… it wasn’t” Caryn stopped. She thoughts he had ruined it. “: I must admit that I was ... bored.” Caryn's soul fell to her feet, and she began to apologize. Fil interrupted her.

“It wasn’t fair to you: I noticed that you tried your best. I'm sorry that I didn't recognize that. ” Caryn was speechless. So: was it a disaster or not? Caryn was confused as she needed time to swallow those words. Now that Filbrick think about it, he partially enjoyed the date. “But... how do you know how to sing so swell?” Filbrick asks. Maybe he was trying to remedy his pedantic attitude. Caryn replied that she had taken singing lessons as a child, and the talent was completely natural to her. Filbrick listened. Throughout the date, he had not paid as much attention to his companion until that moment. "And ... do you see hope on this?" Asked Filbrick; without wanting interrupting Caryn. And like a lightning, Filbrick was embarrassed by that question. Caryn, however, didn't mind at all. That phrase had a very special meaning, a special intonation. The reason for that question was to introduce them to a moment full of palpitations and excited hormones. “W-what do you mean?” The woman asks stupidly, since her feelings make her completely drunk with confusion. "I mean" Filbrick had started to blush. His ears flushed with his cheeks. “, you are ... pretty, you have talent, and...” Between each word Fil was blushing at every step, and Caryn laughed at the nerves, the emotion ... the feeling of ridiculousness, discomfort -and to be frank- the kitsch of silence that was presented. This is love, this is how it works: it is as unpredictable as the victory of a paraplegic over a professional runner in the hundred-meter-flat . “Well, this is getting awkward...” Caryn joked poorly. Filbrick agreed with her on that point, shaking his head quickly. “Yes it is.” “You asked if this was going to ... work. Why are you sure about it?” Caryn muttered, nervous. Her heart was going to be catapulted out of her chest in a daze. She tried to chill, without success, as Filbrick tried the same. He thought for a few seconds. If it would work, effectively? They barely even had a date, but they could both have some chemistry together. “We… could make it work it out.” He dropped it like a bomb: that melted the woman's heart, and her eyes lit up. There was a simple moment, when they just they drowned in each other's eyes. Some showed true love. Others showed a certain spark that gradually became a powerful flame. It was a silent moment of tension, not of discomfort. The silent between them were so fragile, that it could be cut it by a knife. Filbrick see her. Filled with something.

And it was Filbrick who took the first step. The date perfectly could have been a complete fiasco. It could all have been a terrible mistake, where Caryn could have been smashed. By pure luck he rectified. Caryn's voice and Filbrick's reflection caused them to be given an opportunity. There could have been an awkward silence in the car because of the failed date: so much that it would have been worthy of comedy for misfortune. But, Filbrick made the first step with Caryn. How?: he kissed her. It was a delicate, nervous, fragile kiss. But Caryn liked it: that kiss was full of poesy, full of no enough words to describe love, the great passion. And Filbrick, ridiculously started to blush one more time. His kiss was an action driven by desire, by the pure feeling of a blossoming romance. But, who cared about it?: they were happy. Filbrick noticed it: he loves Caryn as a singer loves the music. She felt like the most pleasant woman in the world: she didn't seem to care anymore. The least possible love, the least realistic love was being fulfilled. With those last memories, recalling the sweet memories, Caryn got up, not without taking another sip of a sweet wine. She was shedding tears. She stroked her husband's face in the photo. Every second seemed to be an ordeal, a very painful burden. Caryn saw the cup: she hardly touched it. She walked away, and left the photo on the nightstand. Caryn remembered that she had to buy to make a famous meal, and… she needed to collect the grades. Oh, the school grades: the executioner of almost any student.

Caryn got ready (she did what she could to hide her dark circles with her makeup), took the car keys and drove away. She drove, and she drove. Caryn had something in mind, but would she be able to do it? Could be, for real? She couldn't go on. Filbrick was like a part of her body she lost in an accident: it was phantom pain that haunted her. She, with all her might, despite everything, misses him ... for every single saint thing in this world: she miss him as a slave miss his freedom, as a flower miss the sun when it gets dark. She miss him. And there was –for her- not enough words to describe that feeling.


	4. 3: A festival beach with a rising sun

[The Mamas & The Papas - California Dreamin'](https://youtu.be/N-aK6JnyFmk)

"So what can we do today, on this special occasion?" Stanley asks Ford, as they walk down the harbor toward the beach. One was drinking a chocolate smoothie, and the other of cherry smoothie (courtesy of a friend who worked at the local cinema as a gift). The six-fingered kid did not respond because he was thinking about his sinuous dreams. "What will it feel like to die?" Macabre questions arose in his heavy mind, around his recent experiences. It was his first contact with the end of things: he was taking the step between being a boy, a man recognizing the existence of death, and seeing it through his own eyes. His brother noticed Stanford's troubled expression and thought of something to get him out of that situation. “ _All the leaves are brown. And the sky is gray._ ” That make Ford look at him, since that was the lyrics to his favorite song: _California Dreamin'_. It did not stop bothering him to keep up with him, so he had no choice but to sing so Stan will stop of teasing him: “ _I've been for a walk. On a winter’s day._ ” The two sang: both were already leaving the voices as children to accentuate the voices that were going to accompany them during a great time of their adult life.

***

Caryn expected an answer from the director: she was looking for her children's records. I seriously needed them to do what I had in mind. Nervously he waited, drumming his fingers silently on his purse. “Well, Mrs. Pines: could I ask you why you will withdraw her children? Is there a problem?” Caryn came out of her lethargy to see the director Philips, who used his words subtly: everyone knew perfectly well about _that_ thanks to the morbid news. In addition, they were also not saved by the gossip of the old women and the neighbors. Were the inhabitants of New Burbank merciful or double-minded ? “For being honest, Principal, it is to get away from the city. From New Jersey. You will understand why my family and I are taking these measures, and… I don’t have the intentions to apply that reasons on this conversation.” With that, the director was able to understand it without having to ask: he supposed that was the way they dealt with pain. “Sure, Mrs. Pines: you don’t have to.” Caryn internally thanked those words that indicated that Principal Philips was not going to continue asking. She wasn’t prepared enough.

But that was important: go away? Where? She didn’t know. But they should. Fortunately, Fil's will had left them a large collection of money that would serve them well. It was a considerable amount that could keep them afloat. The money he got from his hard work was going to keep them afloat. Not wasting it was vital: it symbolized that all his effort and time would be in vain. The money and objects seemed to be a message from beyond the death of her husband. Or simply that they both had the extra precaution of having a notary. Walking away from that place was going to help them, of that she was sure. Besides, she couldn't stay. She couldn't stay because of that constant suffer. Running away... yeah, that had to be done. It even sounded deliriously fabulous. “Well, Mrs. Pines” said the director showing two folders of notes next to the paperwork. The man kindly gave her a smile next to a pen so that he could sign. Then she had to do it if she was already going to take charge of her life. 

***

The brothers were running on the beach. Stan was pleased that Stanford was finally happy. “Wait for me!” “’Ya’ve to catch me!” “Of course I will!” Between gasps, both approached towards a cave covered with planks to the top, the light did not reach to lick the internal shadows of it. “Wow. Fantastic. A mysteriously inhabited cave!” Ford said urgently. Fortunately they had brought a flashlight to investigate the forbidden area of the beach. “Unknown ways of life, Mesoamerican gold... everything can be in here.” Stan saw all that string of possible things that could be inside his mind, and at the same time he mocked his brother's rampant exaltation. His thirst for adventure was greater than anything else, except for his hunger for constant knowledge. “Hey, girls first.” “Shut up.” The older hit his brother in the arm to stop him from being so embarrassing, and he returned the gesture. They were both laughing. Ford turned off the flashlight, having been unable to see anything between the cracks in the boards, and tried to pull. Failing to do so, Stanley pushed him away and kicked hard. The boards seemed to be firm, but the wood was equally rotten.

When the boy was able to remove it, the two entered and continued heading towards the cave inside. Stan approached a rock. Ford stood next to him and put a black marker nearby to record their names. One wrote in capital letters and abruptly, while the other went further by more elegant and cursive calligraphy and closed with the last name.

When they reached the end, and illuminating with the flashlight, they saw what could have fascinated them the most: a boat. A hole in the ceiling gave light to this boat with ragged sails and destroyed bow, which is not a very good explanation of why it was in there. “This awesome.” “Yup: and that I saw a dead rat floating in a bucket.” That made Ford wonder completely and unintentionally, begin to imagine such an unpleasant scene. “Where do you have to be to see something like that?” Ford was the most adventurous to go to the ship and start climbing it, leaving Stanley behind. “Pointdexter, there are many things you don't know about me.” Stan went to the ship and visualized what that cave hid for, how long: ten, twenty, forty years? It was just a stroke of luck for both of them. “Do you know what this ship is missing?” Ford saw him with that look that one gives to someone who can read his mind from cover to cover, a look that only a brotherly relationship can form. “Flags.”

And from saying to doing, there was no way this time: those two took off their shirts and put them on the mast that, after all, was still standing. They found a good length of rope that would help them drag the ship. Stan had gotten off the boat already and was tying the bow so he could drag it better, while Ford stared at something that was on the ground. A piece of newsprint, which surprised him, for it showed no sign that it was something old: it had not turned yellow from the sun, much less the ink was discolored. Weird. Then, seeing why not, the boy put the paper in his pocket. By dragging the boat they left the trail in the sand, moving it until they reached a small hill. They took out the marker again and wrote the name of the boat in large and readable letters, while Ford with flourish and theatrical effect: “And I name you, the _Stan of War_.”Both admired the ship, proud of having taken it there. Both imagined for a few modest seconds the project of putting that boat in the sea... until Ford was pulled out of his reverie by a strong blow to the head. “Au! Whatda...?” Turning, his gaze turned completely bitter when he saw Crampelter on top of the small hill, next to his two buddies. Those three had supremely outdated hairstyles, but they still believed they were masters of the show at school. “Well, well, if they are the losing twins.” Stan let out a barely audible “well… fuck”. The big guy saw the boat and decided to mock a little more as he descended the descent: “And where did you get that: from the dumpster?” The detestable guy raised his hands so that the other two applauded him. Ford muttered, “It's not garbage.” “Excuse me, what?” One of the colleagues chided the boy and shoved him with his finger, causing the six-finger to look down with hurt pride. Crampelter surrounded them and continued speaking. “They didn't say anything: can't you see they're begging?” Stanley looked at him with murderous eyes for that fact: if he said something about his father again, he swore that he wouldn't be responsible for what…

One of the boys laughed scornfully. Crampelter saw that it hurt them badly. Then he gave a few soft slaps to despair, and paying attention, he prepared to drop his bomb; putting hands on his shoulders, noticing that both had teary eyes, he said: “What: wanna ask daddy for help?” Stanford was already going to fall, because, of the two, he was most damaged for the event, while Stanley clenched his fists tightly and was brave. He looked at his brother and said with it: “-Don't even think about it: please don't you dare. Don’t give up, don’t give up!-” “You wouldn't know, Crampelter. Get lost.” “Know what? You” Crampelter started to say , and turned to his companions. Close together: false move and they could start a fight. The other two were increasing tension by laughing. “You’re a useless sweaty looser. And him? A fucking phenomenon with cheap jewelry. A nightmare.” Ford hid his hands and his cheeks turned red. In that, Stanley saw it. Less angry on his face, he said, “Nightmare? What: did you never saw your haircut?”

The reaction of someone like Crampelter -someone volatile- was immediate. “What did you say? Repeat if you have the enough balls!” Crampelter grabbed Stanley's hair and pulled him up. He said it in a threatening voice. Stanford looked up and tried to help him, but the other two pushed him out of the way and cornered him on the boat. Stan stared, fearless, and challenged with his gaze. He concentrated something in his mouth, and when he opened his lips he spat at Crampelter, who released him. Stan quickly pushed aside the buddies who cornered his brother: he hit an stomach and threw someone to the side. Crampelter shoved the boy into the boat and insulted him while hitting him. “Sunnababitch!” Stan didn't care a bit: he pushed and attacked the other and punched him. Stanford went to the boat and when he saw that a board was loose, he grabbed it and pulled it out to hit Crampelter in the hamstring without much force. He fell into the sand, and Stanley climbed on top of him to hit him in the face. Ford just stared in shock at such a beating.

Adrenaline possessed Stan: it seemed that there were bolides in his veins and his mind a flight of rage. He insulted the stalker with momentum, and Stan did not stop even when Crampelter slapped him and pulled him away without success. “Fuck you, asshole! Don't talk about my family, got it?! Motherfucker, I've had enough of you!” Ford reacted and pulled him away, grabbing from behind. This one didn’t resist too much. Crampelter clutched at his face, probably concealing his whimper. “... gotta move on.”

The two rushed to run for their shirts, which they had to take off as soon as possible, and ran off to avoid any problems. The two took refuge in the bathroom of a nearby pharmacy, and locked it. “Why do not defend yourself?” “Wh-what? Stanley, I dunno…” Stan still had that adrenaline, that force action needed to get to the whole. He spoke violently, something that intimidated his twin. “‘Don’t let that hurt you.’ Why you didn’t?” Stanford said that he didn't know everything. He just doesn't like being him. Why can't he be normal? Why do he have to have misshapen hands? Stanley looked at him, and seeing that his brother looked confused, he simply left his toughness. “Look: while we’re together, you don't have to face the world alone. It doesn't matter if it's your fingers, or if it's about Pa: I’ll always protect you, got it?” He sighed with aplomb. Ford looked at him with some discouragement, but also with gratitude. He appreciated his brother he had. But something is coming that Stanford has to confront on his own. Perhaps as adults, when they already take completely different paths. To the university, married life, family, work? They'll have to do it at some point, right? “Well: I’ll do too.” Stan heard those words and drilled profusely. They saw each other: one with scratches on his face, the other with a small bruise on his cheek. They both decided to get out of there.

Neither of them noticed the light from the necklace. Ford had the collar under his shirt, and on his way home, the marks started to noticeably go away.

***

<https://youtu.be/b7R6EaE9YbE>

“Do you like it?” Caryn asked her children. They said yes in unison. They loved lunch: salmon with cape gooseberry sauce , made with love. The atmosphere at the table was cheery, and all three enjoyed it. They finished eating, and Caryn watched them closely. “Kids, I need to tell you something.” “What is it, ma?” Ford replied as he sipped his drink. Caryn stared at her hands for a moment, beginning to see what she was going to say. Maybe I should soften the blow. “We’re leaving.” That left the two brothers without any kind of guidance, until Caryn completed: “I mean, we’re leaving New Burbank.” That surprised Stan a lot, but the other brother understood it when see his mother's guilty face. “Mom, are we moving today?” “Oh, of course not, sweetie: but... well, I thought it would be the best for us."

The two boys didn’t understand much what their mother wanted to do with that action. What's all that? Why they have to leave? They ventured to ask. Her mother explained that it was because she honestly didn't think that staying would bring back fond memories that perhaps it was better to part with Jersey to avoid reminding her of her father. “Also, dad paid a good part of the rent and I, well, contributed what I could.” She pointed to the room with the window that looked out onto the street next to the neon light. Nearby was a small table with a phone. The boys got it. “I will need a miracle so we can have a new home.” At that, Ford's light went on, and he took the piece of newspaper out of his pocket. He read it:

“Beautiful shack for sale in Gravity Falls, Oregon. For more information, contact with Mr. N. Murphy. ”

“Ma, what do you think about this house?” The woman was surprised to see that her son gave her that piece of paper. Stan looked at him questions in his gesture, and this one said: “Boat.” “Gravity Falls? That’s kinda far away, honey.” The trip was not going to be to go to the corner at all: they were talking about, what: three thousand kilometers? A move to the other end of the country would be almost absurd. The name of that place, honestly, she had never heard of that one. Where could it be? Close to Portland? How about in a county like Polk or Coos? “We lose nothing in calling. Maybe you can get something about it.”

Caryn disliked that idea altogether: three thousand kilometers was too much. That would be very expensive, and that would be far more than her family can afford for sure. But, that was a good advice: calling shouldn't take too long. “Okay. But don't think I only have this option, Ford” Caryn went to the kitchen bureau and showed them the newspaper that day. “: I'm going to look in the classifieds for a while, and better get ready to go out, dwarves.” Her mother said. The boys looked at her with some understanding. Caryn felt that this was not enough to calm her children. “I know it's going to be difficult to leave, and…” “I don't think we’ll do, mom.” That interruption left the woman completely shocked. Stan went and explained to her mother this: "We have no friends here, plus we dislike here.” “We would love to leave, Mom. If you think it is the best for us, we’re okay with that.” Caryn smiled, completely grateful to them. With that, she already knew that she got rid of the weight of the confession. She was happy as her children supported her. She loved them more every day. Maybe she needed more than just a move to get ahead: maybe she needed to have her children around and open up to them. 


	5. 4: Scars

_Destiny is something tangible, real, something in which certain subjects are woven. Perhaps that assumption is not that wrong. That is why the child matters: his destiny already written since he was born, but with greater fire and strength than many others. He shares that with Ford and Stan: they are from the same ilk, for make it simple. The importance of the boy is that he is destined to meet the twins. But for that, it’s going to take a while. Fortunately, the first chapter of his story won't take long to get a start..._

The St. Marie Orphanage was a complex that once upon a time was a prison for dangerous convicts who did ugly things in the Korean War... at least it’s what the residents say when you ask them. In fact, it was previously a simple construction that no one remembers anymore what it was its function: it was a construction like any other, made with cement, bricks and tax evasions that date from 1963. And that was just the first stain of thousands that that construction (which began as an orphanage since 1989 and without anyone knowing how) has had during its history since it was installed in Jackson County: since then more reports of tax evasion have been reported, with abuse of powers, neglect, and other things that the heads of the local press decided to ignore when they smelled a juicy check written by the good and generous owner of the show, Mr. Danvers. Let this only serve as a prelude for anyone to understand how disastrous that seedy hole was. After all, Danvers had priorities, right?

The orphanage kept around two hundred and forty children between the ages of five to seventeen, which was the maximum age (adults were either thrown out, or given a space between the guards). Sometimes the inexistence of control due to the lack of attention from the authority figures was such that big it seemed like a scene out of _Lord of the Flies_ : children insulting like truck drivers and starting fights left and right, haggling objects or answers to upcoming exams, and even, a few were lovers of a good pack of Winstons, Camels, or any brand they could found to the highest bidder. Among all those children who had nothing else to lose, one stood out. He is nine years old. His light brown hair always went in a long tangle that he always tried to style as best he could, although luckily his amber eyes didn't bother his vision. His “name” was Italy. Everyone started calling him that way thanks to the fact that he always babbles words in Italian that only he understood. He was noted for his brightness -a boy with the guts to step into the world of science-, but ironically, despite his hunger for knowledge, he preferred to stay locked in his science books rather than venture out to experience those wonders by first hand. That broadly speaking, is the life of Italy: a child without friends, with nothing to do in his spare time, except for reading from cover to cover the old books with dust and –and not exaggerating- cobwebs that were in the library… or staying up late at night because of his insomnia problems.

He can’t sleep. It’s almost midnight and Italy has not been able to sleep. He tried everything but it was all completely useless. He was staring at the moonless black sky, trying a new strategy. He was very hungry, his eyes felt tired but his guts did not leave him alone. Seriously, he was starving. He turned and stared at the ceiling. He thought that he could do multiplication to tire his brain: ninety-seven times forty-three is four thousand one hundred and seventy-one. Eight times twenty-seven is two hundred and sixteen. Thirty-two times fifteen? No: he didn’t know, and that it was a simpler operation than the others. At least he knew it that for sure.

“Italy... hey, do ‘ya hear me?” The named sharpened his ears. What... what was that? The boy rose carefully and slid his bare feet cautiously across the floor. “C’mon buddy, wake up.” No, it wasn't part of his imagination: somebody was actually calling him from behind the door that always locks at the time of sleep. “Hello? Who is it?” Italy's voice rang out with fear hearing that voice not being able to fully recognize it. “Don’t cha’ worry, pal, it’s me: Ron. That fella that helped ‘ya on that language quiz?” That's when the boy finally realized that it was nobody he should fear. It was someone good. “Don’t mind me, but, are ‘ya near to the door?” “Uh, yeah. For what?” “Nothing, just move away. I’m goin’ in.” The boy obeys and moved away. Almost immediately he could hear that something was picking the lock. Italy thought that sounded like the inspection that dentists do with those intimidating-looking appliances, but with more rudeness. Suddenly a soft "cling!” rang and the door opened slowly and conferring a mystical essence.

Behind was a tall, stocky seventeen-year-old boy with his tangle of orange hair tied in a small tail. His cheeks were covered in freckles and his skin looked papery because of how white he was. “So… why you are in my bedroom?” Ron looked around the corridors before closing the door as quietly as he could and turned to see the boy. “Good news, kiddo: we’re leaving this hellhole.” Ron without saying another word turned on the flashlight he was carrying in order to find the backpack from Italy and empty it of the books he prepared for the next day. That made no sense, and it was all too hasty to take in. “Say what now?” “That I am leaving this place forever, and you’re coming with me. Help me pack only what is necessary, please?” Ron spoke quickly and you could tell that he was on edge with adrenaline and nerves. Italy paid attention to feeling that reaction, in addition to being afraid of older children. Failure to obey it _could_ have severe consequences. Ron looked at the Italy desk and saw a worn Rubik's cube, and then he turned his head to the boy and smiled slightly. Without hesitation, he saved the cube on the backpack.

Italy took only two shirts, a pair of pants, and put on the only pair of socks that were not frayed next to his shoes that were already beginning to be small. After putting the backpack on his shoulders and adjusting his big and round glasses, the boy was ready. His body began to feel nervous at his idea of escape. It was risky, intrepid too, and that scared him quite a bit. Ron bent down and looked at him seriously, and asking Italy to listen to him, Ron said: “‘Well, this will be the plan: under the mountain a friend o’ mine will be waiting for us, and he’ll take us wherever we want. The fact is that we must hurry, because in exactly ten minutes a truck will come to deliver the groceries. It always arrives at midnight, and our goal will be to leave the boys' building, cross the basketball court and classrooms, and get to the playground. There we will take advantage when they open the truck, and when nobody sees us; we’ll go out through the door that they will leave open’. Got it?”

For a few moments, the boy was doubtful about a plan as complicated as that. Ron noticed the boy's concern, and with a big smile encouraged him to leave. “We’ve nothin’ ‘ere. You know that, right, kid? We can go and find somethin’ bettah to do with our lives. You can finally be happy. Isn't that amazing to ‘ya?”That cheered Italy up a bit. Then, fully determined, Italia returned Ron's smile, and together they decided to leave the room. They looked both ways down the hall and no one was there. They were going between running and crouching. Whenever they came across a corner, they would look to the sides and follow when the path was clear. That first part -leaving the boys' building- was easy: they didn't find any guards. Now, it was time to pass through the courtyard, which was being supervised by a guard who was circling the area with a flashlight. They descended the red flagstone stairs and quickly hid behind garbage cans. The guard was in the other corner of the court and soon they knew that he was going to turn towards their direction and there, they would be in danger. Italy knew it, understood it. The first time he started going on an adventure, and he was already in the whole situation. Innate or not, he knew that a distraction by pulling something would be more than enough: they were a few meters from the gate that would lead them to the goal, which by divine work was without a lock.

Meanwhile, Ron was also thinking of the same plan. He searched his pockets, and found a chalk that he took from his last class without anyone noticing. Italy looked at him, and both with an intuitive look knew what the other thought. Ron nimbly stood up, readied his arm, and tossed the chalk. It wasn't long, but the guard turned his head quickly to the right and went to inspect the sound. The two boys were as fast as they could to avoid drawing his attention, with a heavy lump in their throats. They crossed the fence and had to go down the stairs of little worked concrete. They had already avoided two dangers and there was only one left.

Ron knew that leaving that hole was for his own good. It was an open secret that it was better to be in the street than to have to spend another minute in that place. That is why his accomplice, Fred, along with his sister escaped; because he understood that every moment he spent trapped there was a moment that lost what it meant to be a child. That's why you found them lost due to the lack of adults who would give even the least for them, because everyone there had similar stories: either their parents were dead, or they couldn't support them, or they simply disposed of them as garbage. It was a real anarchy there, and while everything collapsed, the teachers turned a blind eye out of fear or bribery, or Danvers' fat ass was doing what it could to prevent St. Marie from closing. Everything and everyone, unintentionally or not, was stripping each other's innocence. Ron had enough of that shit. And Italy was the little that could still be rescued. That place was heavy, too much for anyone, and Ron knew when he taught Italy to improve his grammar that St. Marie was going to eat him alive. He did not hesitate: that was a fact.

“Look” Says Italy, pointing to the large gate that was beginning to rattle. “. I can't believe we're almost out ...” That little phrase had a lot of longing for the tone of voice. The boy's eyes lit up like never before. Ron beckoned him and they continued on, down the steps. At the gate there were already three guards who were in charge of supervising the unloading of the truck, and the large door was open. The two were hiding in the dark taking advantage of everything they could to avoid them. Miraculously, they finally reached the door: they were on the edge; the guards -one of them came out of the house that controlled the great door- turned their backs on them, completely absorbed in securing the supply boxes and in sleep. Ron reached out from behind a column and saw that the path was clear. They passed through the house that had a path that was covered by a brass roof that covered almost half the road where trucks could get, and it connected perfectly with the road going down the sloping mountain. It was incredibly dark that part, so Ron was kind enough to take Italy by the hand so he wouldn't trip.

Footsteps were heard behind them that made the floor creak for Italy. It must be a guard or rather, something worse. The question of 2where do you think you are going?” made the boy squeeze Ron's hand tightly, and Ron felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They were paralyzed with fear, but turned around. They saw nothing but a tall, slim black figure. From there came a presence that caused Italy terror just by having it in sight. Ron put the little boy behind him: they were the same age, Ron and that guy. The other was a little shorter, punier, but he was still someone you must fear. “So, are you ... leaving?” The figure's words trailed wearily but in turn with surprising fierceness, an intimidating fierceness. And while, and as far as they could tell, he was walking towards them. Instinctively they backed off until they passed a hole in the tin roof that illuminated the surroundings a little more. From then on, it was just a steep and somewhat long path: twenty-odd meters separated them from the road. The figure reached that projection of light, and finally his face could be seen: a well-combed jet black hair allowed seeing perfectly the profuse dark circles that the boy was carrying. His eyes were on a thin, pale, sickly face. He grinned widely and didn't bother to blink. He wore the distinctive uniform of the prefects: a blue jacket with a "p" clasp and matching pants. “Wiggin.” “... Marcus.” There was silence at that time. Everything seemed to be working in favor of the prefect: he looked intimidating, the atmosphere and his voice helped to give him that effect. Marcus spoke again: “I see you are scared. Do you want mommy to come, Italy?” After that, he laughs softly and more when he noticed that Italy is affected by the comment.

“Let him alone, you fuckin’ monster. I know who you really are after…” “Oh, please: that's old history.” Marcus spread his arms and his voice sounded more cheerful than before. He regained his posture and spoke again in a more serious voice. “Do you want me to feel something for what I did? If you want to hear an apology for it, I'm sorry, but not because I really felt something about it, but because I can't give it to you, I don't feel like I can give it. You understand it, right? It was wrong and all that, but...” Marcus spoke with a very deep, bored tone of voice, without worrying about the possible result that his atomic bomb would cause in Ron: “Leonard could not have cared less for me.” His face stopped smiling, and his eyes that were still unblinking showed without any regret. There was no life in them: the only thing in those ashen eyes was clear as water: indifference. “You sick sunnababitch.” Marcus chuckled again. Italy was holding Ron's hand tightly, which made his fingers go numb. He was beginning to sweat, and he felt colder than ever. It was fear that he felt. With each step they took, Marcus took two, and the distance was less. Every time that happened the child could feel that his heart was going to shoot out of his chest leaving his body behind. Ron had something in mind. He brought his hand to the shoulder pad of his backpack, as slow as he could. “Look, I know you're thinking: ‘Marcus’ crazy’. But of course I’m not, my friend: I prefer that you consider me as a businessman. I can let you go.” Ron was not moved, he did not change his expression because he knew that all that was a shameless hoax: there was a trick. “That, if... you give me the little one, of course.”

“No, no, don't listen to him, p-please. He _scares_ me, Ron, no, I'm begging you!” Immediately the adrenaline exploded in Italy's head and he became a victim with fear of the worst. His eyes reflected a fear that made Ron think: ‘What did he do to make him look at me that way?’ He had never seen a look so vivid, so full of terror at a person. His voice was cracking with each plead, he was about to burst into tears from fear. “I know you want to leave this place, and who would not? Think of the child if you decide to run away: what will you do with him when the police come for you? It will be a burden, one more problem. It is more than fair treatment: you come out well, without any punishment, if you allow me ... to take him to his room ...” “Italy, I ...” “Oh God, I beg you ...” “You don't even know his called? How are you going to take care of the brat if you don't even knowing his name?! You must be joking.” “I beg you, help me, Ron... please...don’t leave me with him…” “Would you like to know his name, Ronald?” “Don't get any closer, Marcus. Try me…” “Is not it swell to know that his mother her entrails rotted and his father left him here, and then blew his head off? Come on, I promise you: give it to me, and you can go and enjoy the freedom you have before we ask the police to come for you. You will go less unpunished without a child in tow.” “That… that…” “Stop, ‘ya asshole.” Marcus seemed terribly fascinated by Italy's expression of profuse pain and his grimaces only excited him more. “He has nowhere to go, this is his home. Here we would give him education, a roof, food, a habitable place to say the least. What can a redhead who doesn't know his name can offer to him? Do you think Ronald can give you something...” Marcus had gotten dangerously close to them, and the slope of the mountain was already beginning to be felt. The prefect's eyes were beginning to show something other than indifference: impatience. He wanted to nip the problem at the root; he wanted the situation to end on his favor. He wanted that, wanted it too much. “... do you think you can be loved ... McGucket?”

“You know very well that you won't be able to do anything out there. You will last a few weeks at the most, but hopefully you'll be there hovering for about two or three months I think. But that's none of my business, if you let me have Italy. What do you say? ” Ron smiled. The boy was very scared. That laugh meant he was going to leave him behind. “Ron, no…” Ron looked at him. Italy did not understand that smile: would he leave him, would he be planning something, what did all this mean? Then Ron turned and looked at Marcus. “Heh... you underestimate me, ‘ya dipshit.”

[Run Boy Run (Instrumental)-WOODKID](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jv6iLLXD75k)

Ron took the shoulder pad from his backpack, pulled it out, and hit Marcus on the head taking advantage of his confusion. “Run, Italy, run!” The cry finally made Italy lose his temper, but he was able to heed his instinct to flee. The footsteps thundered in his ear like a stampede, his feet flying with speed. His heart was racing a thousand an hour; he flapped his arms and tried to keep his balance on the mountain. “You are coming here!” He felt like Marcus was going to catch him by the collar of his shirt, and he dodged as best he could, which caused him to trip over a stone, fall and scrape his knee, rolling a bit down the mountain. Ron saw this, and grabbing the first rock he saw, he threw it into the face of Marcus, who had already gotten dangerously close to Italy. It struck the eye, awakening an animal cry from within the prefect. That gave Italy extra time, which started crying in pain and limping. Ron grabbed him again and encouraged him to continue. “Don't give up, almost there!” Italy had a cry of fear caught in his throat. The darkness was hazy, and the lights from the streetlights made the atmosphere more terrifying. His adrenaline fueled him, and the nascent desire to flee was a contrast to follow.

He could go on, his mind screaming at him that he could run and that the rewards were greater than the risks: leaving everything behind was more than enough to put him running even faster. They were already thirty feet from reaching the bottom of the hill, and Ron yelled: “Fred, turn ‘da goddamn car, TURN IT ON!” The redhead reached the end first and turned right, and the little one almost passed him, he was doing it great. Marcus was about ten feet from them. When Italia looked up he saw a gray Ford Escape that was ready, roaring and ready to go. A passenger door swung open, and a black-skinned girl urged them to keep running: “Shit, Ronnie, he's here!” Italy arrived first and the girl made room for him. Ron was about to get in, but Marcus pulled him out and knocked him to the ground. “You're not going to leave, you're not going to walk away, you fucking bastard!” Marcus was berserk, his eye bleeding heavily. He grabbed Italy by the leg and pulled him, and he was clinging to the passenger seat and the pilot's arms. With his good leg, he aimed at Marcus's face and kicked. It fell to the ground, and Ron had already recovered and entered. They locked the door, but Marcus got up and started pounding on the window. "Holy shit; let’s go now, now, now!” Ron yelled desperately, scared of Marcus's bestiality. The driver stepped on the gas, and the car started blowing dust. Italy turned back, and saw the beastly figure of Marcus lag behind, and vainly chasing the car that took the forty kilometers in no time.

“What the fuck is wrong with that guy?” Said the girl seeing the prefect scream, and getting upset over it. Italy looked at her in surprise: that girl was smaller than him and spoke like a truck drunkie. “It doesn't matter anymore, Amy: it doesn't matter anymore.” The driver, a boy with black skin and military hair, was quite nervous and tried to regain his calm. Ron stepped forward to the passenger seat and turned to see Italy: “Are ‘ya okay, kiddo?” The boy saw his knee, and yes: it hurt a lot. “Will we be fine?” “Yeah, sure: will be.” Ron smiled nervously, and raised his hair. Someone muttered, “I can't believe we made it, guys.” “Hey boy, what's your name?” The girl asked the self-conscious boy. He looked at the teenagers in the rear view mirror and spoke: “It… It’s Fiddleford. Fidds for friends.”

The next morning, St. Marie began to fill with rumors: two students had run away, and they made Marcus wear a Halloween costume earlier (the black patch he used to cover his now useless eye made him look like a pirate). Everybody said they got away with the trucks, others in the laundry bags, and a few said they were in a battle to the death with the kitchen knives. It was a cause for gossip for weeks. They never knew what became of them. And the date they fled, the early morning of June 15, 2013, was a legend for future generations of lost and forgotten orphans, inside a hill that has no name.


	6. 5: Looking for a home, running far away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember: when there's a link is for music. So, click on it to open a new window and hear it meanwhile you are reading.

Caryn was staring at her children. She was searching for a moment of calm because she was leaving New Jersey. She was leaving home. The twins were also excited at their one way: Ford was talking of the wonders of Oregon to Stan, like the mystery of a weird Egyptian cult, the myths… Ford didn’t notice that Stan wasn’t very disposed to talk about that by his pale and sick appearance. He was clasping his hand strongly to the point they turned white.

“Ma, can I go to the bathroom?” Ford stopped his speech.

“Of course dwarf. We have to wait only fifteen minutes to aboard the plane.”

“’S not for being fussy, but, why we couldn’t take a direct fly?” Stanley moaned in disappointment.

“With how much a direct fly costs these days, with that distance? What am I, a millionaire?” Caryn joked with her delicate financier state. Even she was cheerful on the outside, Caryn was feeling the pain in her wallet. At least she found a much economic airline than the others. However, it was a great investment with the move. Ford smiled a bit. Finally, he decided to go to the bath.

Now, Caryn was completely sure to what to do. She got up and finally sat down next to Stanley so she could look at him and be more confident with him.

“Now’s your moment, sweetie. Want to talk about it?” Caryn whispered to him. He seemed awkward with that phrase. After that, Stanley took a face of discomfort. He was mad about that remark.

“My, you don’t have to act cocky and brave all the time. I know my son, and I know that you’re afraid of heights and that’s---

“I’m not.” Stanley grumbled.

Caryn could understand why of that interruption: proud. Her boy is as proud as he's a good kid to the eyes of Caryn. She could understand that she won’t achieve anything. However she’s not a coward.

“That’s something you can’t handle with. You’ve to understand that you got to live with that” Caryn ended for a bit, trying to find ridiculously inspiration on the walls, the cafes, the shops, or even in the glassed ceilings. They have to stick together.

“On the other hand, there’s something you can do: don’t let your fears define who you are. You got it? But if you need me, hold my hand.

“… Thank you.” Stanley said dryly.

Ω

“Wanna watch that?

“Nuh, change it.” The TV showed a statue of Paul Bunyan, amidst a blue sky and whistling chants. Fidds switched channels with the remote. There was slight static, and now they were moving on to reminiscing about the next baseball game coming up in three days.

“Can ‘ya switch to the news, kid?” Fred asked to the boy, who started flipping through the channels, and left CLL Channel on the air.

“Why are we going to watch the news for?” Fiddleford asked. Amélie, the girl who didn’t mince words, explained that:

“’Cuz we need to see if they’re coming for you. They won’t gonna find ‘ya, considering they didn’t searched for us.

“And in other news, in Jackson County, Oregon, there has been a breakout at an orphanage.

Amélie turned to look at the reporter dressed in garish pink in a motion that gave a dramatic edge to the contradiction. She looked supremely offended. Fiddleford put his eyes on the screen. Ron sat next to him, and squeezed the paper bags containing the lunch. Fred put his hands in his pockets hoping to release tension on something.

[Paisley Park-Prince](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7dzR8VwtC4&ab_channel=Prince-Topic)

“No, this... this wasn’t s’posed to be covered, why is this thing on TV?” Ron held his hands to his forehead in complete distress. Fidds was more stunned when he saw that the field reporter was interviewing Marcus, who for having lost an eye, was in his five senses: calm, carefree in his black, ever-menacing eyes. A certain level of complicity was equally apparent in his laughter. He didn't know why, but Ron had the impression that Marcus had done something to get Mr. Danvers to announce the escape as soon as he could to the media.

“Yeah, I'm honestly concerned about the little kid: I'm sure he's very frightened out there. Because of his mental illness; he’s slightly autistic, and the change of his environment could take him too far and driving to… a stress episode.” Marcus said without hesitating.

Ron thought that it was bullshit. He’s not biting, and he won’t. All of them, -the four- were scandalized by that lie.

“I’m afraid of what could happen to Fiddleford.

“If the viewer knows anything about the minors, contact your local police station as soon as possible. Among other news, we are again warning about the murders that took the life of a family man of New Jersey the last..." The screen took off a quick flash and then went black, reflecting the group. Fiddleford's face was as white as paper, his outstretched, frozen arm held the remote control.

“That… that is not true. Nothing he said was true, I promise.

Fidds began to tremble, to lose himself in his fear: it was now or never to run.

“Oh, shi… we gotta move, now.

“Bu-but we haven't spent a day here.

“Melie, their faces were on the news, and if anyone here saw them, we're lost! They’ll be looking for us. We must leave.

Fred went to get his and his sister's suitcases and try to find the car keys. Ron stared at Fiddleford: he was petrified. Ron put his hand on his shoulders, and he began to beg them not to believe Marcus' words. That image was just… sad. He looked so stressed, so… scared.

“I don't believe a single word he said. None of us does.

Ron was telling a half-truth: he was… pious. He didn't know why, but he felt that Marcus had planted the seed of doubt in him by that interview.

“He will find me… he’s coming for me…” Fidds spoke for him. He mumbled that sentence that no one in the room heard. He glanced at the bedside table out of the corner of his eye. There he saw a purple glowing object. The boy approached it, and saw that it was a ring. It did not appear to belong to any of his friends (could it be from the previous tenant?). The ring was of a silver color, with a stone of, perhaps amethyst. It was not carved. It felt cold to the touch. The boy pocketed the ring. There it gave a few very slight purple flashes that didn't quite make it through the newly worn jeans.

“Where are we supposed to go?" Fiddleford came to himself and asked that question nervously. As he waits for the answer the boy pulls his backpack out from under the bed and puts it on securely.

“A town. Not on the map. We've been there for a year and they couldn't find us.

“Which it’s name?

It's about an hour from here; Gravity Falls. Hey, Fred!"

Ron tossed the keys to Fred, who caught them in mid-air. The red-haired man walked over to Fiddleford and looked at him:

“And how's your knee?" Fiddleford lifted up his pants: it was fine. It was hardly something to complain about. The boy smiled slightly and stretched his leg: it didn't hurt at all.

“‘Kay: think slow, move fast. Gotta move, people" Amélie approached Fidds and looked at him in confusion. She motioned to the television and then spoke to him:

-Don't ‘ya think that asshole looked funny with that patch on?" Fidds let out a sigh of relief. With any luck... 

Ω

_In the darkness, she traveled. She heard endless cries of pain and sadness. They came from nowhere but her ears. Only she in the blackness could feel those howls chill her blood and make her bones tremble. That was something that disturbed her: that pain was not alien to her. It was a pain that also came from her loins. She knew it. She continued to stand there. Trapped between the blackness and the torture, she saw a gargoyle as she knew she reached the end of her journey. It trembled. Not from cold. Not from fear: from rage. Small, wrathful, the gargoyle showed more than it really wanted to show._

Caryn awoke with a snort and opening her eyes in fear, realized she was on the plane. Her children were asleep, and as far as she could remember, Stan had taken her advice: he didn't look at the window, just focused on a paperback book that was dangerously close to falling off his thighs. Also, Stan grabbed her hand. She grabbed the book and stowed it in her purse she was carrying by hand. From what she could tell, they were almost there. She couldn't help but feel that she was getting to her true bliss. "Admission is easy, just say U, believe then come 2 this place in your heart." That had to be Prince at the very least: now, going to her Paisley Park, she could find a little more joy in her heart.

She may would. 


End file.
